


Tink tink tink

by CosmeerSpots



Series: Broken Shield stories [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Heart Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Post-Canon, Wondrous Wanders AU, how the FUcK do i tag this, other characters are mentioned but none of them really speak so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24818155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmeerSpots/pseuds/CosmeerSpots
Summary: He still can’t really believe where and with who he found himself
Relationships: Tiso/Broken Vessel | Lost Kin
Series: Broken Shield stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795171
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	Tink tink tink

Tiso has learned very early on what three taps against ground- or any surface, really- mean.

He didn't understand them at first. He didn't understand the wielder and their need to make those sounds and why exactly it were three- _he still doesn't, honestly, they are a mystery to behold._ But how could he back then, anyway?

* * *

The- the _creature_ was brought to Dirtmouth one day. It rested on the crimson protector’s back, torn wings dragging after them, shaking, small wisps of pure darkness escaping their head and their chest, tears staining their cheeks. Just like the pale thing. The pale thing walked along with them, too, actually, somehow looking concerned even though their face never moved and they carried a blade that wasn’t theirs. With the handle clothed in red, with long blade, with dusty surface.

He didn't get a better look, the protector locked him in place with her terrifying stare before she, the torn apart creature and the pale th- Ghost disappeared in the doors of their house.

His memory almost lets go of the encounter. After all, nobody besides the protector left the house for really long. Even she departed only for a tiny bit, to fetch more food, water or medicine. Tiso has been more than sure that they were wasting their and the town’s resources on a lost cause. Until…

One day, in the town’s graveyard, he spots two pairs of softly glowing wings. A dusty stained mask, black as night body covered in bandages here and there, almost _everywhere._

It’s the creature, he realizes with a start as his curiosity pulls him along to them.

Tiso stops a few meters away, as the other squares their shoulders and whips their broken head around to face him. He will never admit that their stare made his heart stutter in fear and… maybe something else. It was intense, it was scary, the one slitted glowing pupil in their right eye unnerving as it moved to track his every move. It didn't belong there, somehow, and that made the entire deal worse.

Still, he moves closer, because he's a proud warrior and he's not going to be discouraged by something so trivial as someone's eyes.

His hands move to rest on his hips- well, the right one, his left side still hurts too much to be touched just because- and speaks up even though he can see how the other’s right hand jerks towards their back as if reaching for a nail. “So you've made it, hmm? Quite impressive, for someone who looked like on death’s doorstep AND looks like a little weakling, too.”

That seems to give the other a pause. They tilt their head at him, their right hand goes back to the ground.

Tap tap tap. Claw hits the dirt three times, attempting to draw his attention to it, he guesses.

“What’s the questioning look for? You are sitting, _alone,_ in a graveyard, without anybody burying you. I want to know what’s your deal.” Tiso says, because this does not give any sense.

They pause for a moment before picking up their hands from their lap. They are shaking so _so_ badly that even Tiso’s heart’s strings get pulled on. He almost tries to stop them, take their hands in his and put them back down. It hurts to look at.

Instead the creature’s claws move in what he recognizes to be a sign language. One he doesn't know at that. That's not really surprising, with him being a foreigner, but it sure is incredibly frustrating.

So he takes the hands in his own to stop them. The other jerks away, quite violently, too, but the hands still stay in his. They are _cold._ That's the first thing he notices and by that he infers that it means they for sure are a sibling to Ghost. The next thing he notices is how rough they are. Calloused palms of a strong warrior, is his best guess. With dull and chipped claws that probably haven't seen much care in very long. Which is understandable, considering how they looked when they came to Dirtmouth, priorities had to be set.

“...Don't bother, I cannot understand,” he half whispers out when he wakes up from his thoughts.

The hands slowly retreat from the warmth of his and hide away at the other’s chest. He lets them go without a second thought and decides to sit with them. So at least they wouldn't be alone in a _graveyard._

* * *

The creature’s name is Broken- _Brooks_ as far as he is concerned when it comes to calling them and overall their nicknames- and it _fits._ Because-

They've become sort of friends. _Acquaintances,_ he'd say if you asked him. He and the sentient stick of ice started sharing benches. Or just time, when it came to Broken and their visits to the graveyard.

At first, the visits were daily. Then weekly. Then he sees them crying darkness while staring at a long lost name engraved in stone that simply refuses to wither away. Naturally, he decides to come over.

Tiso makes sure to push their wings away- _those are torn, those are stitches, those are hurting, take good care of-_ and unceremoniously sits down next to them. It takes a while for that slitted, stupid, inappropriately terrifying pupil to glance at him.

“What are you looking at?” he says, making sure any concern is buried underneath snark and arrogance which he got so good at putting on whenever. Yet, his voice cracks a bit. Hopefully, they won't think much of it.

And their name is Broken, because their hands shake less, now, but it still hurts to see them sign. _It’s useless, too, he still doesn't know the language._ And their name is Broken, because the bandages around their head and chest are always tinted dark grey and their wings never move unless it is willed by the wind. And their name is Broken, because they are weeping their own blood right now. ...Thankfully, a voice leaks into his mind along with the motions as he listens.

_Grave. Name. Memories._

Hearing them in his own head feels weird. And he, mostly, knows that Ghost has to be around for it to work at all. It is curious, however, how each of the mute siblings’ unreal voices differ.

The biggest one’s is still mostly a mystery to him. They keep quiet even when they are gifted the ability to let their thoughts be heard. Ghost’s sounds tired, calm or maybe fast, wilder and much more untamable than the moon and the stars. Broken’s is razor sharp, just like nails that bury themselves up to the hilt in bug’s chest without a hitch or a single drop of mercy. It’s filled with flourishing life like the greenest leaves and flowing rivers. It’s filled with rotting death akin of someone who got to know the mistress by heart and maybe even by endless hurting. It’s _broken,_ but it can be fixed.

...And maybe Tiso likes it the most out of the imaginary voices. Only and just by a bit, though.

He rolls his eyes, even though he knows they aren’t going to see it. “I don't get what simple dusty stones do for you, that you sit here among them so often.” It doesn't make much sense, it really doesn't. And it feels depressing. And it feels wrong. Because they are alive despite everything and the living shouldn’t be looking at graves with such blind homesickness. With such _hiraeth._

Their only reply is a shrug and he's sure his blood pressure has just risen higher than the Hallownest’s Crown reaches. He's mad. So he probes a bit. “Are the memories you've mentioned painful, weakling?”

The question makes them twitch a bit and he can tell they froze with how their eyes- _just eye you have no idea where the other one is looking-_ shift to watch the air above the ground, somewhere in the middle, somewhere that's really just nowhere.

Tap tap tap, claw against soft dirt knocks along to nothing as they think.

They slowly nod, after a while, taking their sweet sweet time to make the motion properly. And he sort of can’t help but snort and he feels them staring, regretting.

“Really, Brooks, I've thought better of you than to wallow in such things. It’s pathetic of you. Kindly stop.” He makes sure to make the sentences sound insufferable. But also light. Sympathetic, in a way. Only teasing. Hurting exists, after all, and it’s persistent and Tiso knows of it well. Ignoring or stomping out pain could get a warrior killed.

For a little bit there’s a glint in their eye that yells violence. They'd probably punch him in the face, which wouldn't be exactly ideal, but he could take it. It seems to disappear, though, as both them and he realize that this is the first time he called them by a name. No matter, no matter, ignore _that,_ Tiso, it isn't important. It would’ve come one day anyway.

The response this time is a finger in front of their face, in front of their hidden mouth. The plates slightly ajar so they can blow the air out and whistle quietly in the process. An obvious gesture for _“sshhh._ ”

Tiso tauntingly smiles and sticks his tongue out at them.

* * *

Both Broken AND Ghost’s adopted kids have grown. Broken is now quite a bit taller than Tiso, which is… _alright,_ he supposes. Annoying, but he can deal with it if he _has_ to.

The four rascals trail after both of them often, hopping around his friend and chirping repeatedly, “Auncle, auncle, auncle!!!” as if Broken wouldn't hear the first time.

Their eagerness stems mostly out of the interest and intrigue of learning how to fight with a nail. At least largely. One seems more curious about healing. Which is nice and good, but it makes Tiso roll his eyes, anyway. Who wouldn't like to become a warrior???

Broken often responses in kind. They do their best to get the kids somewhere where no accidental property damage can occur. They do their best to flare their wings and chase them around for a while, to play with them games that they remember from their own childhood. They do their best to hide the way they look at the nail Tiso recognizes as theirs, now wielded by the winged flaming child.

It’s during one of those occasions. It’s in middle of Broken correcting the way one of the spiderlings holds their weapon- a nail of different bug that has passed, that was close to Ghost, he recalls hearing, some scholar- when he interrupts. “And oooohhh, reverent nailmaster, when will _you_ show your true skill in fight to demonstrate real battle to your pupils, hmmm?” he makes sure to mock them with both his voice and posture. Their wings twitch in agitation. A win in his book.

One of their hands moves to rest over their heart and. Right. Ghost _told_ him about that. How Broken’s heart can sometimes stop beating. And detecting their pulse can be a bitch, with how slow their rhythm is. So simply, so easily, they could pass away.

Nevermind that, though. “Stop worrying so much, Brooks. We will stop when your weenie grub heart starts deciding whether to quit or not. It’s as obvious solution as that!” His shield already rests on his forearm, hidden blades slightly rattling. They won't get to see the light in this fight, but still they make themselves known.

Broken seems to think it through before nodding, barely keeping their excitement hidden. They accept their own nail from the equally excited child. Broken gives them a polite nod in thanks as they experiment with their grip on the clothed handle.

To test it out, they swing about randomly. Just from that Tiso can tell they know what they are doing. They know the balance of their blade. They know when to cling onto it and when to let go to make it spin in their shaking hand or reposition it correctly for a sally. He can tell they used to be deadly. They used to be fast and with the wings, too? Swift death from the heavens just like acid rain, surely.

The kids move away to a respectable distance, marking the limits of their arena.

Both combatants change their stances accordingly to their mastery. Tiso into a defensive one, ready to absorb any blows and respond in kind ten times stronger. Broken looks like a wasp warrior. Ready to sting, to pierce, to impale through and through-

Tink tink tink, the tip of their blade caresses the rocky road as their wings twitch with the tempo of it before flaring as they attack.

It’s a graceful fight. Great one, too, he will admit. Despite the permanent consequences of injuries on both sides, their strikes are still powerful and playful. Joyous.

It’s a beautiful dance, practical with only few twirls. Broken is quick even when they shake. Their claws find purchase in the cloth. Their wings dance along with them, so nicely reflecting and filtering the day’s light. They use them to boost their backsteps, they flap them to make the dust rise to confuse him, they make them hide their next move to make it a sharp surprise. It’s beautiful to watch, no matter how dangerous it is to stop to only gaze for a while. The children think so, too, if the quiet little ’ohhh’s are anything to go by.

Tiso isn't as fast. Nor as agile, especially not with the dull pain pulsing in his left side. Still, he takes their blows with close to no trouble and manages to make them stumble or fall out of their rhythm few times, too.

A hit to their stomach is what makes the fight come to an abrupt stop. They stumble backwards, drop their weapon and clutch at their abdomen. Tiso feels like beating himself up for doing that. Surely, one of the family members is going to take his head off.

“H-hey! Are you alright?!” He runs to their side instead of relishing the victory. Quite unusual for him, but that's okay. Things sometimes happen.

He helps them right themselves as they slowly nod before silently wincing. _This was a bad idea,_ he realizes as they cough for a bit.

Still, they feel more angry than anything, he thinks. He takes the stare they shoot to the nail to mean a glare. Tiso can understand that, being useless after being able to achieve greatness with weaponry is quite the depressing thing.

So he picks the nail up and slides the handle into their right hand. They stare it for a while before tilting their head at him. What are they-?

“Look, we can try again. Slower this time, my side is getting sore.” He tells them, just to make it look like he only cares about himself and not about the sadness that comes off of them when they watch the younglings practice. “We will take a break now and if you decide to not be a coward, we’ll get a rematch.”

They roll their eyes at that, but their shoulders bop up and down with what looks more like silent laughter than the tremors that rock their being all the time. They nod again and walk to the chattering children trapped in both awe and worry, dragging the nail after them.

Tiso thinks he will pull them into more little fight sessions in the future. It seems to make them happy. And, for some reason, making Broken happier feels incredibly right to him.

* * *

He and them meet back to back. Tiso can feel the roots of their wings against the back of his head, the membranes brush against his arms, softly buzzing, slightly, constantly moving as adrenaline flows through the body of their bearer.

“I'm ready whenever you are!” He shouts over the cheering crowd and shudders as his companion’s cold hand finds his bicep and squeezes twice. A positive. They are ready, too.

The foes scream, bang against their shields with dirty hemolymph stained blades. Acid drips from mouths of aspids and sizzles as it hits the stones on the ground. Yet, he can tell when his ally makes their own sound.

Tink tink tink, their weapon chimes. It’s the sign for him to attack. So he does.

With a battle cry that the other simply cannot copy, he throws himself in. Wings and rough cloth brush against his carapace as they follow just behind him, nail ready to skewer another foe while he guards their back.

They are going to get through this. Together. They are going to win. _Together._ They will both leave a fresh mark in the Colosseum of Fools’ winner boards. No matter what, they will celebrate victory.

Nail point and the flat of his shield ring out as they meet the armored bugs head on.

* * *

Tink…… Tink…………

…

Tink.

Thump. The nail falls from their hand and kisses the ground.

Thumpthump. Their knees follow next.

Broken curls in, clutches at their chest, where their heart rests, where it’s slowly _stopping._

And Tiso does his best to throw off the assaulting bug from himself as he sees them collapse. _He has to get to them- he HAS to._

There’s only few more raiders. Only few more to dispatch before they’ll be safe and he’ll be able to run with them home. He just has to- he just- _Why does it look so helpless???????_

Come on. Come on, Tiso, it’s okay, it’s alright. Broken depends on you, you have to- you just _HAVE_ to get through this. There’s no what ifs, there’s no other choices, there’s no other chances. Just get through this and everything will be fine again.

He does his best. He really does. He _promises_ he does.

Tiso stays at their side, holds the shield up to protect the both of them from arrows and spears. He does his best to ignore how they seem to wilt with every second. Does his best to not recognize the feeling of their horns nudging him- that became so normal, so familiar...

He manages to dispatch two more foes. _There’s still more, though._ And he can’t fight anymore. And neither can Broken. They are basically lying on the ground, now.

Blade and silk swishes through the air, however, and never before has he felt hope bloom in his heart so openly and wildly. It really _is_ going to be alright. They are saved! The protector- Hornet, Broken’s sister- is here! It’s going to _be alright…_

His shield drops to the ground right next to their nail as Hornet shouts at him to run home, to Ghost. Shadows shift near them as the biggest member of the family appears, their massive nail blocking and shielding him and Broken from another row of arrows and spears. He ignores his own pains in favor of getting to them and pulling Broken into his arms. They've grown so much… It’s stupidly difficult to run without tripping with them resting against him. Their head finds comfort on his shoulder and his stomach drops even lower at that. They don’t just seek relief like _that._ They don’t seek relief at _all, this is wrong._

Tiso does his best to ignore how different their cold is- how _dead_ dead they feel. He ignores the black wisps rising from their open head. There’s no time to dwell- there’s simply _no time, run run run go faster- THEY DEPEND ON ME-_

* * *

Tap tap tap. Gentle claw touches the back of his hand three times.

His face scrunches with discomfort. Has he fallen asleep in weird place again? Probably. His back and left side are screaming at him loud enough for it to be true.

The claw moves from his hand to his antennae. Oh. His hood is off. He flinches, slightly. Having them out usually ends up with hurting.

Instead, the claws are gentle. Almost soft, too. They slowly run along the length of one antenna, resting at the root of it before moving up again. Up and down, rest. Up and down, rest. It puts him to ease and helps him breathe. Up and down, rest. Up and down, stop. The whole hand settles on his head for a while before traveling down to cup his cheek. He leans into it at first and then hides his face in the palm of it. _It’s so nicely cold..._

The hand doesn't leave him. Doesn't shy away at all. Only caresses him gently and so patiently as he fights his unwillingness to open his own eyes and see the scary giant world again.

 _Come on, Tiso. Look at me._ A sharp but kind voice rings in the numbness of his mind and the hand cradling his head lifts it up to help him. It’s big enough to hide his entire face. It’s strong enough, even though it shakes, to do as it pleases.

Slowly, he dares to open his eyes maybe just a bit. They water almost immediately as he sees a singular slitted pupil staring him. He breakdowns crying when Broken tilts their head at him. He takes a shuddering breath when they pull him up on the bed and hug him close, when they rest their chin on the crown of his head, between his antennae.

 _It’s alright. I'll live, I’ll bloom. I'm right here._ The imagined unreal voice whispers to him. And they _are_ here. They are whole and they are the right kind of freezing under his palms.

For surely the first time, he lets himself be weak and held. Because this is what safety feels like. He's safe with them. He's loved with them. And he loves them.

He wishes they could be his. He says it aloud a second later.

They murmur they want him, too, and suddenly the world on his shoulders feels much lighter.

* * *

Tap tap tap on his shoulder to catch his attention.

Tiso turns around and is met with a mischievous little nuzzle and a kiss. He shoves them playfully, before reluctantly returning the soft gestures. They rest their cheek against his, sitting silently behind him as he works on his shield. It’s nice, to have someone’s company.

* * *

Tap tap tap, their foot bounces against the ground as they wait in front of the doors of one of the great spires for Ghost and Hornet.

They look quite nice, he decides. Wet from the rain, mask shining clean for once. The soaked cloak weighting down their shoulders and sticking close to their chitin, see-through glowing wings flicking every so often to rid themselves of the water. He might have just fallen in love with them a bit more.

Not that he’s going to let them know.

* * *

Tap tap tap and a shake. To wake him up from another nightmare.

He has a lot of them. Broken has them, too. They already made the agreement to hold each other close during the bad nights. Not to speak till morning, because the safety of light tinted blue by the curtains is more reassuring than the pitch black of deep night to both of them.

They pull him closer against themselves and he welcomes their grounding cold with open arms and quiet sigh.

* * *

Broken is shaking so _badly. Crying so badly._ Not that he can blame them, really.

The Goddess- White Lady, might be Her name or perhaps title?- wasn’t too kind. She’s their _mother._ If he understands right, that is. And She-

He heard everything. Her laments, their replies. Her sadness, their confusion. He heard how She gave up, he heard how they blew up. Filled with too much anger at Her antics and worldviews. Hornet and Ghost have heard, too.

They are outside of the Goddess’ cocoon, guarded only by a corpse of someone once perhaps great, someone perhaps who was too lonely or have fallen too deep in love and blind loyalty.

Hornet is hugging them close, trying to reassure them, comfort them. Ghost is in the embrace, too. Their fists balled up. They are mad as well. _So so mad._

Tiso decides to join the hug. Nobody protests, all of them even pull him closer.

Tap tap tap, a mask meets two other and one bare forehead.

* * *

He wakes up to a familiar song.

Tap tap tap, someone is making drums out of the table in kitchen to accompany a song sang by innocent and soft voice.

It’s too early for him to be up. The sun has yet to rise properly.

Still, he leaves the comfortable warm nest behind and makes his way to the kitchen.

He might have lingered in the doorway a bit too long, he will admit. But leaning against the doorframe, watching as his partner and roommate laugh and sing and create and then finally start their breakfast while the sunlight paints the house warm pink is somehow too magical to miss.

Even he recognizes that.

* * *

Tink tink tink, blade against metal of Hallownest’s borders sings.

Tiso whips around just as the kids start running out into the Wastelands, towards their family that might have been gone for few months now. He sees them tackle Ghost, hugging them fiercely, crying and laughing and thanking while Hornet leans against kneeling Hollow with her arms crossed, smiling and softly chuckling. A second later she and the biggest sibling get tackled in hugs, too.

That's all just in his peripheral vision, though. All his focus is on the plant idiot that didn't say proper goodbyes before leaving on an uncertain journey. And Tiso is _pissed_ about that and oh gods above, he's going to let them know.

He can’t help the soft smile when they kneel down and open their arms wide, however. And he can’t bring himself to stop his legs when he starts running towards them. The laugh of pure glee can’t be prevented, either, as he leaps and they catch him and hug him close, while falling backwards on their back.

Broken squeezes him while their wings move to softly rest over him. Their scent finds its way to his antennae hidden under his hood and the cloth of their cloak is rough just as it is supposed to be underneath his palms. Their mask is dirty and smooth against his cheek and their claws are cold as their hands rest on his back, the freezing feeling so blessedly familiar. _They are finally home..._

“You could've left a note or something, you know? I genuinely wanted to set off after you, find you and personally kick your ass.” Tiso says as he finally finds the power to part from their embrace enough to stare at them.

 _“I_ **_did_ ** _actually write you a note with goodbyes and promises and instructions and all that.”_ Their voice rings in his mind while they sign- he understands now, he has learned- and he feels so so grateful for that. But his head tilts to the side and he squints, because he could never find something like that in the house…?

 _“I just uhhh…,”_ one of their hands leaves his back to search around in either their cloak or in their void. He almost protests against it, demands the hand to be put back. But then they pull out a little note with instructions and parting words written on it. Tiso can’t help but stare. _“I kind of took it with me.”_

With a sharp inhale, he looks back at them. “You are the stupidest fucking vegetation in existence.”

 _“Yet you still love me, idiot.”_ They say so smugly that he can swear their mask moved with the force of it to communicate the emotion as well.

And, well, yeah. He still loves them. He's no better.

So he calls them a moron and gives them a kiss between their eyes, because he might have missed them. Just a tiny bit.

* * *

…Thump… …Thump… …Thump…

Broken’s heart is slow. Just as it is scarred. It had been tarnished by hurt since their hatching. It had been dead long before their claw tips dared to touch the night infested air outside of an egg shell in the Abyss. It has been pierced by time and nail. It has rotted, it has melted, it has frozen, it has forgot. Then it remembered and held onto memories with love. It had become mostly fixed, thanks to family's neverending care.

Their carapace is a mess just like the face of the earth is. Ridge here, shallow there, a scar right in front of his face. A map of imperfections drawn by experiences, mistakes and cruelty of life. And he loves every mark equally. He will probably never tell them. Because he doesn't think his ego would let him. Because he doesn't think they'd want to hear it from him unless they'd be on their absolute lowest. They like it better when he pokes fun at their constantly trembling hands and jokes about them knocking out what they have left of brain every time they run into a wall or get abruptly caught in a doorway. Broken, despite their name, doesn't want any pity.

Tiso doesn't want any, too. He likes it this way better.

Still, in the evenings, they make space for softness. For polite caresses, for strong hugs, for affectionate headbutts and dumb arguments without any malice in the words. Then they halfheartedly fight each other about who’s going to be the pillow or the big spoon for the night. And then they'd either talk about what the other is going to do in the morning, so they can find each other as soon as possible, or just go straight to sleeping.

One of Tiso’s favorite things, when he loses in the little fights and Broken becomes the pillow for the night, is to rest his head on their chest and listen in to their heart while they doze off. It’s slow and it’s calm and it’s his favorite little melody.

Maybe he lets his hand wander over their torso, to make sure he hasn't forgotten any fault that adorns them and makes them ultimately his. Maybe he pokes at their wings a bit, smoothes them out anywhere where they fold up weird because of the blankets or pillows. Maybe he plays a little bit with their much bigger hand. It makes him recall when they were still the same size as him and maybe that makes him a little bit salty, because back then picking them up didn't mean watching his steps to not let his foot get caught in a cloak or a membrane and trip.

But, this is the best thing that has ever happened to him. If the cold arm holding him close to equally freezing chest means nothing, then the amount of words full of worry and self-doubt he has thrown at them surely do mean _something._

He's more than sure that no bug ever before listened to him like they did. Nobody ever stuck around, nobody held him like so and nobody let him hold them.

And so he is eternally grateful for slow heart, cold shell with dark night swirling in it and the occasional shove filled to the brim with love and adoration and smugness.

Tiso nuzzles just a bit nearer, hides his face in their chest, right where their life sings and kisses them.

Broken stirrs at that, turns around so they can pull him even closer and when he puts his arms around them, he can feel more than hear a deep content sigh escape them.

By gods, he loves this void plant abomination. By _gods,_ he loves them so much.

* * *

It’s early in the morning. He can hear the maskflies chirp from somewhere far away from behind the windows. The curtains are slightly open, letting the sun’s light sneak in, right into his closed eyes. He doesn't want to wake up, yet.

Tap tap tap. Claw against the wall tries to catch his attention.

Right. Broken just has to love waking up sooner than anyone else in the town and they just HAVE to try and pull him with them. His answer is to bury his face in the soft pillows and blankets further.

 _Tap tap tap._ More insistent this time, faster.

“Ffffuck off… I _refuse_ to get up.” He knows that _that_ won't deter them from prodding him and tapping some more, but he doesn't give a _shit._ He’ll at least give it a shot.

...Surprisingly, nothing comes.

“W-” Tiso is about to question the silence when suddenly all weight of his partner falls on his back. Which isn't _much,_ they are quite light, much more so than the better part of their family, but _still._ The air escapes him along with a squeak he will forever deny making.

He can feel their quick breaths, shoulders trembling as they laugh without any sound.

That. Little. _Asshole._

“You think that was funny! You think that it is _entirely okay_ to **_assault_** a great magnificent warrior during his slumber like that!!” They make sure that he can feel them nodding into his back. “You flowery bastard!”

Tiso is for sure awake now, yeah, they got him, but by Wyrm, he's going to make it _Broken’s_ problem. With a bit of difficulty he turns around and catches the horn that's growing above their left eye socket as they try to back off to reposition themselves. With a jerk of his hand, their face is right in front of his.

Their expression doesn't change, of course of course. But there’s certain surprise radiating off of them as that one slitted pupil stares at him innocently. As if they did nothing wrong. As if they were some kind of void stained angel and not a disgraceful menace chasing away his precious sleep.

“Will you say sorry and leave me be?” He says as they start to struggle against his grip. They might be twice as big and massive than him, but he’s still somewhat the stronger one. Tiso isn't really worried about hurting them. Both of them let their boundaries be known long ago, as well as they agreed on gestures for when one of them needs the other to stop. Each is respectful, each is careful, even if the amount manhandling would probably suggest otherwise to anyone else watching.

Broken shakes their head, in both reply and attempt at freeing themselves, and then opens their mouth wide. And okay, that makes Tiso push them a bit away. His experiences with _that_ vary too wildly. First of all, he has never before seen such weird mouth parts and when he first saw them, truthfully, he kind of froze in mild terror. Second of all, the chompers of his partner are too sharp and strong for his liking, as was proven by desperate moves in fights on Broken’s part that basically consisted of biting hands, arms or legs off. THIRD OF ALL. _He found out that they are part carnivorous plant the hard way._ That's all he's going to say to that.

The white mask mouth parts that have moved click away, trying to intimidate him. Yeah, that worked the few first times, but they are _very_ insistent on kissing him, too. He knows what to expect now and how clumsy they can be with it.

“Oh, please, you aren’t going to scare me with that. And don't you dare try to flare those wings. You are going to break something and Hornet will kill us. Or worse. Myla will be sad about it.” The wings that were suspiciously rising a second ago fall slack against their back. Mhm! Using Hornet and Myla as logical threats always gets them.

They click away some more, annoyed, and huff before closing their jaws, ultimately giving up on it.

“Ha! That's right.”

Broken glares at him, they bristle and push against him. Tiso can only and just utter a quiet _“shit”_ as, even with all his might, he loses and they press him into the bed successfully. He lets go of their horn as his hand gets pinned against the blankets. “Okay! Okay, fine, you win!”

That for sure makes them delighted, if the little wiggles they do are anything to go by. It makes him rolls his eyes, but also snort as they get comfortable, lying on him with their chin resting on his chest.

“I take it you are very happy with yourself, Brooks.” They hug him. He hugs them back, however reluctantly. “...Didn't you want me out of bed, though? With you lying like this, neither of us will get out.” They freeze as that catches up with them and he explodes in laughter.

Broken’s hands lift up and they sign only two words to him: “Fuck it.”

The beginning of the day gets delayed for few hours more.

The cuddles with small snoozes are more than worth it, however.

**Author's Note:**

> SO IVE DECIDED TO PUBLICLY INDULGE MY ASS, WELCOME TO THE FUCK HOUSE YALL
> 
> I hyperfixated on this crackship so badly that I can think only and just about it and I keep writing/coming up with ideas for it, so I decided to start uploading it on here, too
> 
> Im most def not abandoning the main line of fics, but honestly, Im depressed too much to try and force myself into working on anything, so at least SOMETHING will be uploaded, I guess. Feel free to ignore this entire side series- Ill do my best to not force the ship into the main story even after getting to the point in it where it starts developing
> 
> Cheers, stay safe, stay strong and stay alive


End file.
